Letting Go
by Fluitare
Summary: Harry Potter walked bravely to his death, and he did not return. His blood protects the castle from Voldemort, the last refuge from the Dark Lord's world, and they must learn to carry on. Smallest bit AU, but it changes everything.


**Letting Go**

"Harry, where's Harry?"

They were the first words Hermione had managed in that were not curses and hexes and healing spells. It seemed like the battle had been going on forever.

In a flash of fiery hair, Ron was at her side as if he had Apparated. "I don't know," he said, his voice hoarse with dust. "You don't think - ?"

"Voldemort promised to spare everyone else," Hermione whispered. "Of course Harry would go to him."

Ron was silent.

They were standing together in the ruins of the Great Hall, and between the fragmented chunks of wall left standing, they could see bodies lying too still on the dead grass between the castle and the forest. Living forms moved to and fro among the fallen figures, taking the wounded back to the makeshift infirmary, but they had no energy to spare for the dead.

Hermione automatically turned to the enormous golden numbers hovering in the middle of the hall, the tenths and hundredths of a second flashing by too quickly to be seen, but the minutes stood still at thirty-seven. "Twenty-three minutes ago," she said very softly. "He would have had enough time to get to Voldemort by now."

Even as she spoke, Ron twisted to see the burst of light that appeared in the center of the Forbidden Forest.

"What color was it?" Hermione whispered, not turning from the golden countdown.

There was a long silence. "Green," he said at last.

She bowed her head. "Good-bye, Harry," she said, so low as to be barely audible.

"Goodbye, mate," Ron echoed, his voice breaking.

* * *

Magically amplified, Voldemort's voice boomed through the castle. It was a bitter mockery of the happier times when the spell was for commentating on Quidditch matches.

"Harry Potter is dead," Voldemort said. He said other things, other lies about how Harry had run away to save his life, but Ron refused to give him the satisfaction of listening to him besmirch Harry's memory.

Once, he would have said that to Hermione just so that she could act incredulous that he knew the word 'besmirch', and Ron would have gone on about how she had no faith in him, and Harry would have seen through them at once and laughed while the rest of the Common Room wondered how on earth they hadn't killed each other already.

He and Hermione went slowly outside, holding to each other's hands as if they were drowning. Having known already that Harry was dead made it no easier.

They saw that the rest of the castle, the ones who were still mobile, had arranged themselves into a ragtag line of battle, defiantly facing Voldemort even as he gloated in their saviour's death. His heart swelled with pride as he recognized Neville standing at the front with Professor McGonagall, directly opposite Bellatrix Lestrange.

In front of the Death Eaters stood Hagrid, clearly bound by some spell, probably the Imperius Curse. He was holding a slight body in his arms, and crying shining tears.

"Lord Voldemort is merciful," Riddle was saying. "Lay down your wands, and he will spare you."

"No," Neville said. His voice had no magical amplification, was hardly any more than a whisper, but it sounded louder than all Voldemort's grand threats and promises.

"My lord," a Death Eater said, turning to Voldemort, and then something Ron could not hear. Voldemort nodded, looking pleased.

"Imperio!" the Death Eater cried. Neville dropped to the ground a fraction of a second too late, surely he had been hit. But he got to his feet normally, looking puzzled. The Death Eater who had cast the spell stood, swaying slightly on his feet, looking blank.

Beside Ron, Hermione jumped slightly. He turned to her just as she tugged on his shoulder, pulling his ear closer to her mouth.

"Harry died for us," she hissed, the words tumbling out excitedly. "Like his mother died for him - we have the same protection. If Voldemort had tried to cast Avada Kedavra on Neville, precisely the same thing would have happened as with Harry."

"But Imperio reflected instead," Ron whispered, catching on, "and now he's Imperiused by himself, and so he isn't capable of thinking."

"Yes, yes!" Hermione said, still in an undertone. "But don't you see? Until Voldemort figures it out, we have one chance to fire any spell at him, one chance until he moves away. We must all fire together. Tell McGonagall!" She darted away towards Professor Flitwick, and Ron found himself carefully heading toward the front and center of the line, murmuring Hermione's theory to anyone, cautioning them to wait so as not to waste their one chance.

"And spread the word!" he hissed as he went.

By the time he reached Professor McGonagall and cast a quick Muffliato, nearly everyone had heard it. McGonagall nodded almost imperceptibly, and murmured, "Tell the others it is to be done on two." Of course, because everything was done on three, so that would be when Voldemort expected an attack, if at all. Nodding at the brilliance of it, he turned to pass it on. But Neville had heard, and Dean Thomas, who also stood by McGonagall, and the message had the ends of the line before Ron could even move.

Voldemort had stood, watching these mutterings with a tolerantly amused eye. "Have you chosen life?" he said, when the whispers had at last ceased.

"Give us Hagrid," Professor McGonagall said, her voice steady and clear. "And give us back Harry's body."

Voldemort waved his hand negligently, as if it was of no matter, and Hagrid moved jerkily forward towards them. Then Voldemort flicked his wand, and Hagrid was released from the spell, and he fell to his knees, still holding Harry's body. But to Ron, it seemed as if the Imperio had lost its hold a split second before, when Hagrid had crossed the invisible line between the two armies.

McGonagall nodded. "And last of all, give us three seconds to appreciate our freedom."

"Why not?" Voldemort said. "Lord Voldemort is generous. One."

Ron almost laughed, would have laughed, if his heart had not been so heavy. To have Voldemort, of all people, counting down their attack.

It sounded like he was threatening an errant child, and Ron wondered if Voldemort had decided to allow it for that reason. Or perhaps he suspected their plan, but by counting, knew when the 'three' would come, and could prepare for it.

"Two," Voldemort said, and all hell broke lose.

Jets of light flew, many of them green. Ron raised his own wand, and thought of Harry, and cried, "Avada Kedavra!"

He heard Hermione's voice calmly issuing death to Voldemort's forces, and he heard Neville yell, "Sectumsempra!" and saw the head of Voldemort's great snake sliced cleanly off.

Then Voldemort and his Death Eaters vanished.

* * *

"Hermione?" a familiar voice said, as Ron and Hermione stood in a corner of the Great Hall, swaying slightly with exhaustion.

Ron turned, and saw Lavender Brown standing in front of them. Once upon a time, he would have gone bright red and tried to hide behind Harry, and Hermione would have been annoyed that an ex-girlfriend still had that much influence over him. Now, he read in her eyes the bone-deep weariness he felt, and neither of them had the strength to do anything more.

"Zabini wants your help in the infirmary, if you could," Lavender said. She turned, and went away, her footfalls heavy and slow.

"Shall we go, then," Hermione said, but she was too tired to even pitch her voice higher into a question.

* * *

By the end of the week, things were both much better and considerably worse. Most of the wounded had recovered, much of the castle had been patched, even if only temporarily, and everyone had eaten and slept. Unfortunately, Voldemort had returned.

He had apparently determined the extent of Harry's blood boundary. Ron found it bitterly ironic that Harry going to his death had, in fact, fulfilled Voldemort's promise to not kill the rest of them. There was surveillance around the castle, and when Ernie Macmillan had led the first expedition squad past the boundaries, a team of Death Eaters had showed up at once and killed them.

Every day, a Daily Prophet was left just outside the castle, Voldemort's way of gloating, as every paper showed more and more how much he had taken over.

Hogwarts was the only place left.

Harry's funeral was on Monday. They buried him, at Ron and Hermione's request, under a tree by the lake where they had liked to sit, before all of this.

And with him, Ron thought, they buried their last hope of winning the war.

* * *

Hermione Apparated to the new guest dormitories, accidentally startling Hannah Abbott into crying out and dropping her wand.

"Hannah," Justin admonished gently, retrieving her wand and handing it to her.

"Sorry," she whispered, flushing, and ran off.

"Sorry about that," Hermione said, flustered. "I know the removal of the Apparition block was recent, I didn't think - "

"It's not your fault," Justin said. "You didn't see anyone else scream, did you?" he added, gesturing to the various people working around the room.

Hermione looked around. "Have you gotten beds yet?"

"Yep," Justin said. "Just today figured out how to duplicate beds without draining too much energy."

"Excellent," she said, neatly marking an X on her list, in the small box next to Guest Beds. "Extension Charms?"

"Also yes," he said. "Finished those up yesterday."

Hermione made another mark. "Furnishings?"

"No," he said. "We've been working overtime to get all the beds in, no time to spare to duplicate anything like sheets or chairs."

"All right," Hermione said. "Your next priority is to duplicate all furniture."

Justin nodded. "We'll get on it right away."

"Good," Hermione said, and Disapparated.

* * *

"I need Justin back," Professor Sprout said irritably, brushing back a strand of flyaway hair.

"Justin is in charge of the guest dorms," Hermione said as apologetically as she could. "Don't you have Neville?"

"Who is a great help at growing thing," Professor Sprout said, "but hopeless at managing, and terribly clumsy."

Hermione sighed. A majority of the Hufflepuffs had ended up being project leaders for all the many things that needed to be done as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, that left Professor Sprout without many of her best assistants, whom she insisted she needed to continue her experiments.

"Hydro-ponicks," Professor Sprout said, "the Muggle thing, is very efficient. So is rice."

Hermione allowed herself a small smile. Both of them had been her 'mudblood Muggle' ideas for feeding Hogwarts, when it became clear that growing enough wheat to feed everybody was not an option.

"_However_," Professor Sprout was saying, "hydro-ponicks change the properties of the magical fertilizers, and the rice isn't growing half as fast as it should be. And I need reliable assistants to do the cross-breeding experiments, someone academic to look up Asian charms for growth, and someone to just tend the plants we have until we find something better."

"How about Hannah Abbott to take care of the existing plants?" Hermione said. "I think she needs time to recover."

Professor Sprout nodded approvingly. "A very good idea. She has been taking the war hard."

"And I'll have Cho find you someone in Ravenclaw to do research," she continued. "But we really need Justin to keep his team working on the guest quarters - we have more than a hundred people with nowhere to sleep, never mind put their stuff."

"Well, all right," Professor Sprout said, as Hermione marked Hydroponics, Rice, and Greenhouse Check-Up off her list.

"And a house-elf," Professor Sprout called, right before Hermione Disapparated, "to get me recipes with rice!"

* * *

"How's the hospital wing?" Hermione said wearily. The last rays of the evening sun were slanting in through the west window, and she was exhausted.

"We're making do," Blaise Zabini said. He had shown the best talent for healing after Madam Pomfrey was killed, and was in charge of the infirmary. "But the things we can't endlessly refill - Living Death, Skele-Gro, essence of Dittany, chocolate - we're running low."

Hermione made a note. "I'll have McGonagall ask everyone to sacrifice any chocolate they may have to the hospital. Why do you need the Draught of Living Death?"

Blaise looked at her steadily. "Parvati Patil was tortured with the Cruciatus curse for more than six minutes. Her body destroyed itself in an attempt to escape, and she would be more insane than the Longbottoms if she was awake."

"But Living Death?" she persisted. "Couldn't you just dose her with Dreamless Sleep?"

He shook his head. "Parvati's body would continue to destroy itself in anything shallower than a complete magical coma. Nothing less than than the Draught of Living Death will keep her alive, and we're running low."

Hermione underlined Draught of Living Death on her list.

* * *

The fire had burned low in the Gryffindor Common Room by the time Hermione got back. Only one person wasn't in the dorms, and he was slumped, still and quiet, in an armchair. She didn't have the heart to wake him.

So she picked up some parchment from the table, and dropped the papers she had been clutching to rest next to them. First, she wrote at the top of a fresh sheet anything not crossed off from today's lists, or any notes she had underlined. Less urgent notes went next. Finally, trivial things to inquire or check up on went towards the end of the list that now spanned three pages.

Hermione tapped the list with her wand, and the items on it reorganized themselves within their priority-categories so that all Potions items were together, all house-elf tasks were together, and so on. No sense in Disapparating away only to come back in a few minutes for another task.

Finally, she packed up her lists and quill and ink and looked up to see Ron watching her, a faint smile on his face.

"What?" she said.

"You looked so happy," he said softly.

"I have you," she said, equally quietly, "and I have Hogwarts, and Voldemort can never take either of them away. I think Harry would have been happy that he gave us this."

And she smiled back at him.


End file.
